by Farzana Moon
"You are a genius, Coryat! In speech, madness and syllogism?" Jahangir laughed. Snatching another heavy purse from his coffer, and flinging it to Coryat.
Coryat caught this rich gift in midair with the agility of an acrobat. He was bowing before the emperor once again, and thanking him profusely in Persian. The courtiers were abashed, holding their breaths as well as their thoughts on a verge of sedition. No one had noticed Sir Thomas Roe who had edged closer. He had been waiting patiently and with utmost grace to be announced to the emperor. Being a man of somewhat shallow intellect, he was finding Coryat's behavior most unbecoming, and an involuntary comment on his lips was enough to shatter the mask of his arrogance.
"How degrading for an Englishman to act as a beggar!” Thomas Roe exclaimed. His very gaze was holding his fellow countryman in contempt, as if saying, you have demeaned yourself by accepting a gift from the emperor in such a lowly manner.
"Another mad Englishman! Ignorant of the etiquettes of the Moghul court?" Jahangir thundered. Rage kindling in his eyes suddenly.
"Sir Thomas Roe, Your Majesty, the ambassador from England. He is entrusted with a letter from King James to be delivered to you, Your Majesty." Reverend John interceded on behalf of Thomas Roe.
Sir Thomas Roe stood there stiff and proud. His hose and doublet of metallic gray were clinging to his body, lending him the semblance of an invader who had lost his weapons. His long, sharp nose appeared to be jutting over his paper-thin moustache, which was curled and joined to his whiskers. Only his large eyes with liquid warmth were revealing the glints of misery and discomfiture.
"He can pocket that English title in his doublet and return to England, my good Chaplin." Jahangir flashed a mild reproof at Reverend John.
"Prostrate yourself before the emperor, you manner less cur." Reverend Terry from behind whispered to Thomas Roe with the indignation of a school teacher.
"I am an English ambassador, and I will not kneel before the emperor like a servant." Thomas Roe murmured back.
"For this breach of etiquette, you could be sent to the tower, and spend the rest of your days in abject misery." Jahangir's gaze held Thomas Roe captive in its searching intensity. His very eyes were spilling commands, if not dismissal.
"Your Majesty, I have already suffered great miseries and indignities by the hands of your Moghul viziers. During my journey from Surat to Ajmer, Your Majesty." Thomas Roe murmured with a slight bow of his head. "May I plead the emperor's justice, Your Majesty, against those injuries?" He asked quite humbly.
"The emperor's justice erects no barriers between a friend or a foe, o bold ambassador." Jahangir intoned, his rage was now channeled toward those viziers who were being accused of treating this guest unjustly. "State your grievances with due courtesy, o proud victim, for the emperor forgives not discourteous guests who choose ignorance as their defense to defy the Moghul etiquettes." He warned kindly.
"The etiquettes of my own country demand my utmost obedience, Your Majesty." Thomas Roe curtsied with a flourish of his arm. "And I come as a friend, not as a foe, Your Majesty." He added.
"You are not only bold, but witless, Thomas." Jahangir smiled. "With your audacity, you are winning the favor of the emperor. If only you could soften the glints of pride and arrogance in your eyes, you might win the friendships of the Moghul viziers." He paused, overwhelmed by fatigue all of a sudden. "But do state your grievances, Thomas. Briefly, I command! For the emperor have other duties to perform."
"Pardon me, Your Majesty." Was Thomas Roe's low response. "My grievances are of no consequence, since I have gained Your Majesty's favor." He hesitated, but then continued. "Though I was treated rudely and roughly by your officials, Your Majesty, at the ports of Surat. All those officers insisting and demanding to search me personally. Then commanding me to visit the governor of Surat before proceeding to crave your audience, Your Majesty. When I didn't agree to this, your governor Zulfiqar Khan stormed into my house uninvited. I greeted him as if his rudeness didn't affect me in the least, showing him that I was privileged to be his host as I led him into my courtyard."
"Guilty as ever for the breech of etiquettes, Thomas! And that's you, willfully remaining ignorant of the Moghul etiquettes?" Jahangir laughed without joy.
"Your Majesty, permit me to speak with this proud ambassador of the King James?" Prince Khurram sought the emperor's attention.
"Just to question his pride, that's your only privilege, my handsome Prince." Jahangir consented.
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Prince Khurram bowed before the emperor, returning his attention to Thomas Roe. "Didn't you, Sir Thomas, assert your authority at the port of Surat, defying the regulations of the Moghul customs? And didn't you rally your men to fire pistols when the Moghul officers, according to the law of our empire, attempted to search you and your men?" His very gaze was challenging.
"To keep the dignity of England in view, I was constrained to act that way, royal Prince." Was Thomas Roe's crafty response.
"Such pretensions aught to be left in England, haughty Ambassador." Jahangir shot a quick reprimand. "State your errand, Thomas. You must cast off this mantle of pride. It doesn't fetch an ounce of gain to anyone in the Moghul courts. Especially, to the foreigners, who are steeped in false dignity of their country's prides and honors."
"I have a letter from King James, Your Majesty, requesting trade treaty with England." Thomas Roe was quick to procure the letter from his pocket.
"An insignificant request before the eyes of the emperor. This must be left to the attention of my viziers." Jahangir waved dismissal, motioning his attendant Jahu to claim the missive for later perusal.
"Please, Your Majesty, may I present the gifts from King James?" Thomas Roe snatched the gifts from the hands of his footman. He held out one richly embroidered scarf and an English sword to the emperor.
"These gifts would be displayed in our royal palace as the ornaments of pride." Jahangir got to his feet. His gaze flashing scorn and mirth.
"Your Majesty, if you deign to see the English coach sent by King James? It stands by the palace gates for Your Majesty's approval." Thomas Roe pleaded quickly, urging his footman to display other gifts. A pair of virginals, silver knives and gilded goblets were pouring forth from the chest unlidded by the footman.
"Then the emperor would deck himself with the silk scarf and wear the English sword to see this rare gift of King James." Jahangir dismounted his throne thoughtfully.
The English coach all gilded and slashed with red velvet was a curious enormity to test and behold. Jahangir was delighted by its size and glamour, his aesthetic senses searching for beauty and grace, and divining improvements. Though impressed by the design and contour of the carriage, he wished the Chinese velvet to be replaced by Persian velvet with matching cushions. He didn't like the brass nails, and was ordering those to be replaced with the silver ones. As a mark of his gratitude, he was ordering his vizier and physician Muqqarab Khan to attend to the needs of Thomas Roe. Bestowing another favor upon the English ambassador by inviting him to join the emperor for celebration and almsgiving at the tomb of Muinuddin Chishti.
"Harness this coach with four Arabian horses, and the emperor would be delighted to ride in it this evening to the tomb of the saint." Jahangir announced before trooping ahead toward his palace.
A cavalcade of royal guards had reached the shrine of Muinuddin Chishti with all the pomp and splendor of Moghul pageantry. Jahangir and Nur Jahan had journeyed in the English coach embellished with silk trappings on which were embedded precious gems in patterns of vines and flowers. The caparisoned horses and elephants with the gilded howdahs had carried the viziers and the courtiers in a rich procession following the emperor's coach. The tomb of the saint was welcoming the pageant of the Moghuls, who were longing to participate in the night-long rituals of festivities and alms-giving.
Muinuddin Chishti's shrine, immersed in a flood of song and music, was teeming with devotees of all sects and faiths. The Sufis wer
e dancing in ecstatic abandon, and the dervishes whirling on their toes in oblivion to their own devotion. The Qawwals were drunk with the spiritual songs of their own qawwalis and beating drums in rhythm with their hearts. The tomb of the saint was garlanded with roses and marigolds. The courtyard next to it was inlaid with mother-of-pearl and changing colors against the rush of plumed turbans. The ladies were weighed down with gold in their ears and around their throats, their arms glittering with gold bracelets squeezed clear to their elbows. The poor and the needy were assembled in the three large courtyards on the east side of the shrine, coveting for the bounties in food, not in gold. Jahangir and Nur Jahan were secluded in the fourth courtyard by a railing of latticework in gold. Several cauldrons heaped with cooked rice, lentils and vegetables were at their disposal to serve the needy with royal portions.
Jahangir, Nur Jahan and all the emperor's wives, surrounded by cauldrons of food, were standing in the middle of the courtyard under a gazebo wrought in solid sandstone. A large chandelier was hanging low from the ceiling, bathing all in a frolic of light and shadows. The emperor was the first one to ladle out a platter of rice, which was entrusted to the care of Jahu to be served promptly. Nur Jahan followed suit, spooning out lentils in large bowls. Then the emperor's other wives were taking turns in heaping the dishes with steaming vegetables. Soon, other Begums had joined and there was an assembly-line of bowls and platters to be carried away. Jahangir and Nur Jahan were slipping away on their own at the first opportunity after the ladling and spooning were in full swing under the care of the Begums. They had found a refuge near the gilded lattice where tuberoses appeared to unfold their lips to greet the emperor and the empress.
"Is the emperor's health worth all this serving and alms-giving? Serving those who are hungering more for riotous festivity than for viands cooked and garnished?" Jahangir commented.
"The viands are to be served at night, Your Majesty. More appropriately, when hungers gnaw at the soul rather than the stomach?" Nur Jahan laughed. "And the emperor's health is worth many empires! Without which, the peace and justice in his empire would dissolve into chaos and rebellion."
"Rebellion, if not chaos, still abound in his empire, my lovely Nur." Jahangir quipped brightly. "Early next morning, my adored prince, Prince Khurram has to march straight to Deccan to chastise the warring lords. If the emperor is fortunate in not encountering more rebellions, he would repair to Mandu to hunt. Ah, the beautiful gardens over there and with you as the most beautiful of my flowers."
"Your Majesty! The gardens in Kashmir are much more beautiful than all the gardens in the whole wide world, I have heard." Nur Jahan murmured. "I have a liking for Chenar trees though, and Kashmir, I hear, boasts only of pines, cedars and spruces."
"The emperor would import Chenar trees from Iran to adorn the gardens of Kashmir for you alone, my Nur." Jahangir murmured back.
"In that case, Your Majesty, I might not live to see them bloom." Nur Jahan chanted happily. "But I do suggest, Your Majesty, that you celebrate your birthday and weighing ceremony in Ajmer before repairing to any of the heavenly gardens." Her joy was tarnished, for she could sense the emperor's sadness.
"The anniversary of my late father comes a few months earlier than my own birthday." Jahangir reminisced aloud. "I wish to mark that day with celebrations, much in the manner of my own birthday. My dear father, he can't come back, but his memory can be weighed with the pearls of his wisdom than with precious gems." His thoughts were creating illusions where only Anarkali reigned. “Did I tell you about my dream, the last night's dream in many dreams?" he asked abruptly.
"Your dreams, Your Majesty, I dare not explore." Nur Jahan smiled.
"Yes, I saw my father in my dream, alive and majestic." Jahangir continued heedlessly. "He spoke to me endearingly. Shaikhu Baba, forgive for my sake the fault of Khan Azam, he told me clearly. It was rather a command." He demurred. "Remind me, Nur, the first thing in the morning! I must summon Khan Azam from the fort of Gwalior, and grant him his freedom."
"And reward him with kindness', Your Majesty! The kindness', which he cannot help but drown into the rivers of his own ingratitude." Nur Jahan warned.
"If you only knew my father, Nur, if you only knew." Jahangir's tone was dreamy, his heart weeping at the tomb of Anarkali. "With the pearls of his wisdom and kindness, he could command obedience of any man, even from his grave."
"And how do you wish to celebrate the anniversary of your great, great father this year, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan’s gaze was warm and searching.
"By offerings gifts rich and precious, which would adorn the tomb of Muinuddin Chishti with sparkling gems." Jahangir could barely murmur. "And by feeding the poor and the sick with the milk of the antelopes. How long has it been, Nur, do you remember? The same day when I had bestowed a jagir on Khan Azam, an antelope was brought to my presence. It was kept in our palace for a week, while I couldn't get over my surprise by the buckets full of milk it could give each day."
"The healing powers of the milk of that antelope, how can I forget, Your Majesty?" Nur Jahan’s wit and optimism were returning "It cured many a victims of their asthma. Including you, Your Majesty, the royal victim!"
"Ah, my sweet Nur." Jahangir snatched her hand into his own, pressing it absently. "Let us return to the tomb of the revered saint, my pearl. Would you pray with the emperor once again? For the peace in his heart—and for our love and happiness, together." His gaze was sailing toward the vaulted sepulcher of the saint.
"And to neglect to serve the alms to the poor." Nur Jahan quipped.
"Has Hind ever seen an emperor serving the alms? Or a goddess as his consort?" Was Jahangir's delirious response. The ecstasy of Sufi music was reaching his heart. And his soul was keeping rhythm with the whirling dervishes.
6
Emperor’s Birthday
Another time, another music! The night-madness of once keenly felt Sufic ecstasy was lost to Jahangir for three whole years. And it was resurrected this particular year, this very day, as he sat in his garden palace at Mandu, watching the mystical dance of the Sufis. These Sufis were much different than the ones he had seen at the shrine of Muinuddin Chishti. Trained as they were by their mystical and spiritual needs, they were summoned by his viziers to commemorate the forty-eighth birthday of the emperor. Almost three sad-happy years had flitted past since he had prayed with Nur Jahan at the tomb of Muinuddin Chishti. Sad in a sense, that Prince Khusrau was given into the custody of Prince Khurram despite the emperor's wish to keep the prince at Agra. Jahangir had let the prince go most reluctantly, with a sense of foreboding inside his heart which could not be pacified. This farewell with his unfortunate son had been most heartrending for him, since it was against his will and in league with his sense of foreboding. Prince Khurram, against the veil of his covert demands, had requested the emperor for the company of Prince Khusrau during his Deccani campaigns. Sensing the emperor's reluctance and indecision, Prince Khurram was bold enough to assert that he would be unwilling to fight the enemy if Prince Khusrau was not entrusted to his charge. The emperor had no choice but to favor his beloved son than his unfortunate one, whose rebellious nature itself had condemned him to such a state of misery and incarceration. Before their march to Deccan, Jahangir had commanded Prince Khurram to treat his unfortunate brother kindly and with utmost solicitude, since he was prone to bouts of depression and melancholia. Jahangir had further commanded Prince Khurram to write to him, but since his departure the prince had not once sent a letter to the emperor.
During these past three years, the sadness' were numbered few as compared to the joys which had become a constant source of delight to his royal household and prosperous reign. All the emperor's sons and daughters were married now, with the exception of the twin princes. Bihar Banu, being the youngest daughter, was married to Prince Tahmuras the year before last. Prince Khurram had been successful in all campaigns, quelling rebellions and gaining allies with his charm and valor both. Recently, he had
returned to Mandu with the laurels of victories on his shoulders, but the emperor had not the chance to receive him yet. He had still not heard any news of Prince Khusrau, but was yearning to see both his sons after the completion of his weighing ceremony. He was postponing his pain and pleasure for such a reunion until after the twin celebrations on this auspicious day. One of the celebrations was for his birthday, and the other one for the victory over Deccan by his son, Prince Khurram.
To commemorate the grand celebrations of his birthday, the emperor was seated on a gold scale to be weighed six times in conformity with the Moghul custom of celebrating imperial birthdays. He was to be weighed against gold, silver, gems, cloth of gold, silk and linen, spice, and finally against corn, grain and butter. All those items were to be distributed amongst the poor, and this ritual was performed twice a year, both on his solar and lunar birthdays. Right now, seated rather uncomfortably, the emperor was watching the glittering heaps of gold on the other end of the scale, which were swelling in size by the swift hands of the servants in calico robes and colorful turbans. The emperor himself was adorned with jewels. Pearls and rubies on his fingers appeared to vie with the strings of pearls around his neck. Diamond bracelets on his arms were glittering, and big diamonds sparkling in his ears with the fire of their own brilliance.
The gold scale was encrusted with rubies and turquoises. It was hoisted on a gold pole under a large canopy with meadow-green silks and brocades. The emperor was seated cross-legged, his gold stockings matching the purest gold with which the scale was wrought and fashioned. The entire garden was teeming with guests. Most of them were lolling against satiny pillows on rich carpets. Indulging in drinks and merriment, and ogling the dancing girls in drunken reverie. For the emperor's sole pleasure amidst this cumbersome ceremony, a rank of elephants with gold chains and silver bells were being paraded with all pomp and glory. Some of the elephants were wearing mantles of silk, their breastplates studded with jewels. The emperor was longing to get back to his throne under the canopy of gold and silver where he could drink in the company of his viziers and courtiers, and receive his victorious son, Prince Khurram.
